Page 52 of Heart & Hope

This time when I rest my palm on his shirt, his heart slams against my skin. It mirrors my own, and I huff out a faint laugh. The heat that was racing through my veins just sank deep in my belly.

And Reed Rawlins doesn’t feel like my friend. Not anymore.

He moves past me and sits on the bench seat by the table, dropping his head onto the wood with a thud. I sit quietly beside him. “What are you thinking?”

“Hold up. I’m goin’ to have to wait for the blood to return to my brain to do any kinda thinkin’,” he drawls.

I laugh, throwing my head back. The sound rattles up through me as warmth floods in. God, I will miss this man.

He has earned a solid place in my frosty, somewhat vacant heart. And it’s almost like I feel it stretch. Fine hairline cracks split their way through the concrete that makes up my heart. The one full of rules and habits protecting me from the things I fear most. Being redundant. Being dependent. Being a burden. Being distracted and failing.

So many things to fear when you’re missing an essential tier on the Maslow hierarchy of needs. Specifically number three, belonging and love. My family is successful. They are driven. They are also completely emotionally unavailable.

There is no warmth in the Robbins household. Only trophies, achievements, designer clothes, luxury cars, impressive bank accounts, and a whole lot of meaningless small talk.

Reed clears his throat, pulling me back to the here and now. He studies my face, and I try to put the words together. To tell him that we can’t do this. That there’s no point because one, I don’t date, and two, I’m leaving.

But I can’t.

For the first time in my life, I’m resenting my rules.

Maybe it’s the place. Or maybe it’s the man in front of me. But my rules seem utterly insignificant.

“I can see the cogs spinning, baby.” Reed tilts his head.

“What?” I laugh.

“You’re thinkin’. NowI’mworried.”

My smile fades, and I sigh. “I should go.”

Reed nods, swallowing as he rises to his feet. He extends his hand, and when I take it and push to my feet, he crooks his arm. Because he’s Reed and I’m me. It’s our thing.

I tangle my arm through his and lean into his side. “I’m going to miss you, you know.”

But he doesn’t respond. His Adam’s apple works as he homes his gaze ahead to where Mack’s truck waits by the white gate at the homestead yard. The passenger door is open, and Mack sits in the driver’s seat, looking at something on his phone.

Reed crowds me by the tray of the truck and brushes my hair behind my ear. “Goodbye, or see you later?”

“See you later,” I breathe.

He plants a kiss on my forehead and bundles me into the truck. My bag and things are already on the seat between us. And when Reed shuts the door and steps back, my chest constricts, sending an ache through me.

“Ready?” Mack asks.

I almost forgot he was here. “Yeah.”

He shifts the stick into drive and waves to Reed as we pull away from the homestead.

“Thanks for helping Reed; he’d appreciate the effort.” Mack meets my gaze as he turns onto the dirt road.

“It’s a smart plan. I can’t wait to see it eventuate.”

Mack smiles with a nod and turns on the radio. Some twangy country song plays over slight static.

“When do you have to go back?” I ask.

His hands reaffirm around the wheel. “Few months.”

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